The last few days have been full of stories.
In the gentle rhythm of village life, time flows like water with no agendas to restrain it and only a loose schedule to guide it. After the work is done, we often find ourselves with several hours before dinner – hours in which we climb into hammocks or prop ourselves against bamboo huts and breathe in the quiet of the afternoon. Surrounded by new friends and a forgotten sense of time, the story exchanging begins.
Story telling is a ‘give and take’ culture in which you share the stories you have and receive new ones in return.
I’d like to share one with you…
There once was a boy named Vuthy. He was the oldest of five children and grew up in a tiny farm village in Cambodia. When he was fourteen he left home for the capital of his country. There he became a Tuk-Tuk driver, driving people around the city on his motorcycle taxi.
Every day Vuthy parked his Tuk-Tuk outside a certain house in the heart of the city through which many Westerners came and went. He was intrigued by these foreigners that called themselves YWAMers and curious as to why they were in Cambodia. He became friends with them and often asked what they were doing in Phnom Penh. They all said the same thing – that it was the love of Jesus that brought them there. Vuthy continued asking questions. After experiencing truth in the things they talked about, he decided that he too wanted to receive the love of Christ.
After that, Vuthy’s life completely changed. God asked him to sell his Tuk-Tuk and join YWAM. He sold his motor bike, in addition to everything else he owned, and went to their Discipleship Training School. It was there that God spoke to him again. Rather than going to a foreign country to do missions, God wanted Vuthy to go back to his home village and share the love of God with his family. He was to build a school there that would be free for the children and help them escape the cycle of poverty. Vuthy knew that he would be criticized by his Buddhist family for coming home as a Christian, especially after having been educated and sent off to find a better life. He foresaw a tense reception and a difficult task ahead of him, but he trusted God and returned home.
It has now been four years since Vuthy came back to his village. He currently lives in the newly constructed children’s home, together with the children he has adopted. Five days a week he holds free English classes for over a hundred children. On top of that, Vuthy’s entire family, in addition to many people in his village, now follow the Lord and attend the quaint little church that stands on his family’s land.
I shared this story because it is the story that we stepped into this month.
When our van pulled into Vuthy’s yard a few days ago, we were instantly welcomed by warm embraces and heart-felt smiles from his entire family. Every moment here is dripping in joy and soaked in laughter, whether it’s hauling dirt to build a playground or cooking dinner with Vuthy’s younger sister. His family is radiant with love for every person who finds their way to his home.
So here we are for the month, in a tiny village where rice fields stretch for miles in every direction and where people go to sleep when the sun goes down. It’s a place where our shower water comes from a murky pond behind the house and our toilets are little squatties that sometimes have beetles floating in them. Rice is served at every meal, and the bacon comes from the pigs that trot throughout our bamboo huts.
And honestly I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Because with this primitive lifestyle comes a simplicity in which relationships thrive. In the absence of unnecessary activity, there is a peace that draws people together and encourages reflective conversation. In between the English classes that we teach, we lounge in hammocks exchanging stories both with the villagers and with each other.
Stories are powerful. It’s no wonder that Jesus used them to teach. They have the ability to inspire, to spur faith and invoke change.
Every person has a story, each as intricate and powerful as the one tucked inside the person sitting next to them. Sometimes it just takes the quiet of a Cambodian afternoon to invite them to emerge.
